Vi Prometto
by SaraBarns
Summary: Lovina has a problem. Well, aside from a traumatic event that happened to her just a few weeks ago. And a lifelong case of Chorea. And a devoted Spanish boyfriend. And an Italian grandfather who prefers her younger sister. But the aforementioned problem! It's... well, it's growing. Quite literally. Human!AU, Fem!various nations.
1. The Chorea

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia and all the brilliant characters that stem from it all don't belong to me~! The idea does... ahaha and it's probably pretty cliche... (Would it be mine if it wasn't cliche? Hell naw!) but I still love it!

**A/N:** This is a human!AU, with a bunch of Fem!'s. But, DON'T HATE ON THE FEM!S~! I_ swear_ they're decent. So far the only fem!s in this chapter are Lovi and Feli, and they're just Lovina and Feliciana. Nice easy names. This is nothing about my preferring hetero to yaoi, I just hate Mpreg with a burning passion. And the plot bunnies that ate my brain last night demanded that Lovi be a girl. Feli didn't have to be, but it'd be too ridiculous for the end of this chapter if he was a guy. Because you think he would have... done something? Eh, you get the point. On with the story!  
ALSO! Translations are at the bottom, but most of it is pretty basic. The usual Si, No, Nonno, Ti Amo and all that stuff. Um. I'm rambling! Continue, please!

* * *

They won't stop staring at me. This is the last period of the day. The last class of the week. The last time I have to see any of these bastards for the rest of my life. I adjust my bag higher on my shoulder as I walk. It hangs awkwardly at my side, bumping my hip with every step I take. The heavy, signature-less yearbook inside makes a muffled thud every time it hits my hip bone, and I tug it this way and that, trying to make that God-damned noise stop. It's too close to... ngh, I don't want to think about that.

God damn it all, they're still looking at me. My arms wrap more tightly around the last textbook I have to drop off as I storm towards the last classroom I'll ever have to enter in this school again. Even with only about a quarter of the school's whole population here, their stares still unnerve me.

I brush my hair angrily from behind my ears to in front of my face. It's harder for me to see anything out of my peripheral vision like this, but it's also harder for those fuckers to see me. Thick, curly brown curtains divide me from them, now, and I'm so ridiculously grateful for it. Even the single curl that never fits in with the rest of my hair is helping conceal me from the idiots I don't want talking to me anymore.

Jesus, don't they have anything better to do? It hurts. I can physically feel their eyes on my back, on my neck, in my hair. It sends a sharp chill down my spine, and I shudder visibly. Or maybe that's a muscle spasm. Shit, either way, I should take my meds when I get home. I think I forgot.

I walk quickly into my last classroom of the day, and glance over my shoulder to catch some of them in the act, maybe glare them down and teach them a fucking lesson. Three girls stand huddled around a single open locker, their bags forgotten, eyes trailing after me. They look down, ashamed as I shoot a death glare at them.

I just wish they'd all stop.

Screw good will.

I don't want their fucking sympathy.

It only takes a moment to make it through the rows of desks in the room, and reach my history teacher's desk. He's sitting there. Probably looking at me. I don't care. I drop the textbook onto his desk, and whirl back around to leave, but a hand latches onto my wrist.

My breath catches in my throat, and I struggle to remove the offending hand from my arm. The shakes don't take even a whole second to begin this time. One spasm runs straight down the arm he holds, starting at the shoulder, and continuing all the way to my fingers.

_No! No, don't touch me! Stop!_

Seeing my panic and feeling the shaking in my arm, the teacher releases my hand quickly, raising his hands in surrender, and eyeing me with sympathy absofuckinglutely _dripping_ from his eyes. I glower down at him, furious with him, furious with myself for my weakness.

"Lovina," he says quickly. "I know you don't like what everyone's trying to do for you, but we just want you to know..."

"I know!" I snap, before he's even finished the sentence. "I fucking know, alright? I just don't want any more of it."

"Look, what happened to you..." he begins again, gently. "We all just want to make sure you're okay..."

"I'm fucking fine, dammit. He's already dead. I get it. Everything's just fucking fine and dandy in the world."

I spin on my heel and run from the room before he can get a word in edgewise. I don't want to hear anyone else telling me how sorry they are. I don't want to hear anyone else telling me that everything will be okay, with time. I don't want to hear anyone else telling me they'll be there for me.

Not even looking where I'm going, I head straight into the bathroom. At least there I can break down in relative privacy. Just until Nonno and Feli come, I tell myself. Then I get to leave, and go to a nice new school, where nobody knows who I am and what's happened.

Nobody will stare at me sympathetically in the hallways, and nobody will be starting rumors about it behind my back.

I bump into another person just in the doorway of the bathroom, and stumble backwards as their arms reach out to steady me. I swat them away, tears already beginning to form in my eyes.

God damnit all, why won't they all stop_ touching_ me? I don't- can't-

"_Mi dispiace_," I mutter automatically, trying to move past them, into a stall already.

I'm going to cry any second now. I hope this bitch just leaves the bathroom.

"Lovi," A familiar voice says quickly, and I look up through watery eyes to see not a her, but a _him_ standing there, emeraldine eyes looking concernedly down at me.

It doesn't even occur to me to ask him what the fuck he's doing in the girl's bathroom. I let a choked sob escape my lips for the first time all day, and fling myself into his open arms.

"Antonio..." I murmur, burying my face in the familiarity of his shoulder. His scent is there. The one scent I can tolerate, these days. The only pair of arms I can still allow to wrap around me do so then, and Antonio pulls me flush against him, whispering soothing nonsense into my ear in Spanish.

"It's almost over,_ mi tomatita,_" he says quietly, stroking my hair as I cry into his shirt collar. "Almost over. Do you want to leave now? Your grandfather and sister are here already."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and allow him to lead me out of the bathroom, and through the familiar hallways of our school to the lobby, then out and across the pavement to the familiar red Ferrari. Nobody calls him out for having been in the girl's bathroom with me, and nobody calls me out for leaving early.

_It's because I'm special, _I think to myself angrily._ Give the fucked up girl space, everyone, she's delicate. We don't want to fuck her up any more, now, do we?_

Antonio hands me off to my sister, and I'm led into the back of the car, where my_ sorella_ buckles my seatbelt for me. My hands are shaking so badly I probably couldn't do it myself if I tried. Antonio and Feliciana switch places, right over the purse module or whatever the fuck that boxy thing between the front seats is, and my boyfriend takes the seat to my left, pulling me close to his chest and resuming his mumbling of soothing nonsense.

"H-Hi,_ sorella_," Feliciana says carefully from the front seat, leaning over the edge of it to look at me worriedly. Her golden brown eyes look watery, as though she's been crying, and I muster up a response for her sake more than anything else.

"Hi, Feli," I say softly, my green-hazel irises leaving her face to glance at the back of Nonno's head.

As if he can feel my eyes on his head, (he probably can, creepy all-knowing fucker,) Nonno speaks, not looking away from the road, but clearly addressing me. "I'm proud of you,_ nipotina_," he waits a second, perhaps wondering if I'm going to respond, before clearing his throat and adding, "Feliciana packed all your things while you were at school today. You should go through it one more time to make sure that's all you're bringing. I want you to be as comfortable as possible there. _Capisce_?"

"_Sì, Nonno_," I say wearily, leaning my head in Antonio's lap as he continues to stroke my hair lovingly. "_Grazie, Nonno_."

Feliciana was out of school before me, today. Otherwise I would probably be packing my own clothes. But she's just finished the eighth grade today, and will be going into high school after this summer. But eighth is still middle school so she got out earlier.

I've only just graduated my junior year today. The eleventh grade. ...well, sort of. I did miss about three weeks of it, up until today. A real fucking shame I don't have to go back there for my senior year. I'm _so_ disappointed, can't you tell?

"Antonio, you're already...?" I start quietly, interrupting some Spanish melody he'd been singing me quietly.

"_Sì,_ I packed, _mi corazón_," he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to my forehead and then returning to stroking my hair.

"_Mi dispiace_," I begin again, as tears form in my eyes at the thought of him having to come with me to the new school. "I-I..."

"_No llores por mi culpa_," he whispers, taking my hand in his, and squeezing it tightly. "_Mi ángel, te amo_, I will follow you_ anywhere_ you need to be. Alright?"

"_Ti amo_," I reply quietly, and continue to cry silently as the car gets closer and closer to Nonno's house, which Antonio and I probably won't be returning to for another year.

"C-Cheer up, _sorella_," Feliciana says, only a little bit of her usual peppy spirit showing now, through her concern. "You'll... be at a new school, and make lots of new friends, ve! R-Right, Antonio?"

"_Sì_, Feli, of course," Antonio said, smiling up at my younger sister. "I'll make sure Lovi makes lots of new friends, and I'll help her get better while we're there. And you can visit every weekend if you like, even. Won't that be nice, Lovi?"

"_Sì_, nice," I agree emotionlessly, but somehow manage to paste a smile onto my face even as I think to myself how much I _don't_ want my family to see me while I'm there.

"We're home," Nonno says, exiting the car and heading for the trunk, where I assume Antonio will have put my backpack. I watch him walk around the side Antonio is sitting on, and just take a bit to observe him. This'll be the last time I see him for a while anyway, I expect.

Nonno is our grandfather; Feliciana and I. He doesn't look that old, though. Or maybe he just uses a lot of hair dye. But either way, he's still young enough to come home every week with some new girlfriend (read: _whore_) who's only a few years older than me.

Well... it doesn't really bother me anymore, since this is what's been happening for most of my childhood. But he always uses condoms and shit, and they always know what they're getting into beforehand, courtesy of Feliciana's Health project from last year. We make all the new ones watch it.

And while his little parade of slutty bitches doesn't bother me anymore... there are a number of things that make me regularly upset with my Nonno. In fact, a very long list of them. But... family is family, I suppose. My parents are already dead, so it's just him and Feli. And if it weren't for Feli, honestly I would have left before now.

...well and the meds. I can't pay for those on my own, and not even with Antonio's help. That shit is expensive. No thanks to Nonno that I have them in the first place. But I'm not going down that painful backstory road right now.

"Lovina?" he asks concernedly, watching me with my backpack in his left hand, and his right closing the trunk. "You're spacing out again honey. Let's go inside, okay?"

I nod, and follow Nonno up the walk to his house. Antonio already took Feliciana in, probably under the pretense of asking her to look through what he'd packed, so she'd stay out of my hair for a bit. I appreciate it. I hate Feliciana seeing me like this. It's not fair for me to bring her down.

Then again, since when has life asked me what I thought was fair or not?

Because I wouldn't have Antonio if life were fair. I don't deserve him.

But half of this other shit wouldn't have happened to me either, because I'm not a bad person, and I shouldn't have had to go through anything like this.

Nobody should.

"There you go, Lovina," Nonno says, patting me on the shoulder. I blink, and realize we've already stopped at my room.

I nod, and enter the room, only to find all my things packed away. I frown as a painful little spark of something reminiscent of longing rushes through my chest. The cherry-red walls are so bare without all my decor, and it's like a whole new room. I don't like the "new" room. I miss _my_ room. The one with all the sketches on the walls, the painting of the tomato Antonio made for me, my green canopy, and my tomato sheets. And all the decorative pillows, of course, because what the fuck kind of room is complete without shitloads of pillows?

My desk is still there, and my PC on top of it, waiting patiently for the next person to turn it on. It won't be on for some time, I think. My closet sits open and forlorn, the blue walls reflecting purple on the rest of the walls. All the Coach and Prada shit I'd had in there before was probably in my suitcase. I don't know where my sketches would be, but then I notice one small, flat box in the bottom of the closet, and I sigh. Of_ course_ Nonno put them in the closet.

He thinks Feliciana's artwoek is better than mine anyway. As do all my previous art teachers, tutors, friends and relatives. Except Antonio, of course. And... I mean, they don't say it, but you can see it in their eyes. I can always see it in their eyes.

I cross the room to my already-stripped bed, where a single red suitcase rests, the lid closed. The star-shaped sticker Antonio stuck on it two years ago when he deemed me fluent in Spanish is still on the top right corner, and I run my thumb over it idly, remembering the day fondly. Just beside it is one Feli gave me, of a tomato, one of the ones the doctors give you when you don't cry for the shot. She accomplished that for the first time last year, and stuck it on my bag before I could even tell her to put it on one of hers.

I sigh softly, and drop onto the bed, running my hand up the sides of the case before catching the zipper between two fingers, and pulling it all the way to the other side. I flip it open with a single finger, and watch as all the clothes Feliciana so painstakingly stuffed into the single bag pop up and out of their tight confines. I can't help but smirk a bit, and it's a start, although nowhere near as lively as one I might have had before _the incident_.

I begin to sort through the folded articles of clothing with a slow, practiced calm, and lose myself in the world I am so used to before I'll be forced into one I'm not. But not long after I decide to leave half of my Coach collection behind, and remove it from the bag, someone's knocking at my doorframe. I look up, and my eyes meet Feliciana's golden, innocent irises.

"Hi Feli," I say after a moment, and she flashes a nervous smile my direction. "Coming in?" I add, when I realize she's waiting for me to invite her to join me.

"Ve, hi Lovi," she says quietly, and perches lightly on the other side of the bed from me. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

"I know, Feli," I say with a careful, wavering smile. "I'll miss you too, _sorella_."

There's a moment of silence between us, and I go back to sorting through the things in my suitcase, removing all the impractical things like thongs and booty shorts. I won't get the chance to wear those at Nonno's special school, and they won't fit me much longer anyway.

"You'll be okay, right Lovi?" Feli asks me, her large eyes tearing up when I hesitate to answer her.

"Yeah, Feli. I'll be alright," I assure her weakly.

"Promise!" she demands, slamming her hands down on the rim of the suitcase, causing it to buck up a few inches on my end. "Promise me you'll be alright, and you'll come home!"

"I..."

"_Sorella_!"

"I promise, alright, Feliciana?" I snap, also bringing my hand down forcefully onto the pile of clothes in the suitcase. But she doesn't know me well enough, perhaps, to know that I never hold myself to any promise I don't speak in-

"_In Italian_." she demands, a determination unlike any I've seen on Feliciana in a long time burning in her eyes. I spoke too soon. She does know me well enough. Of course she does. She's my little sister.

"_Vi prometto_." I say quietly, staring down at the mattress even as my hands work to place everything I need back into the suitcase. "_Vi prometto che tornerò_."

"I don't want you to go," Feli whispers. "I want you to stay here so I can make you better! I can use hug therapy on you every day until everything is alright!" She launches herself forwards, right over the suitcase, and locks her arms around my shoulders.

"Feli-" I gasp, my muscles tightening as she squeezes me, but when her scent registers a little more securely in my mind, I manage to unclench most of the muscles in my back. "Love you, _sorella_," I murmur.

"Ready, Lovina?" Nonno asks, clearing his throat loudly from my doorway. "We should go soon. I want you to get there before nightfall, alright?"

"_Sì Nonno_," I growl, gently pushing Feli off my shoulders and zipping the suitcase back up with a little more force than really necessary, sending it tumbling off my bed and onto the floor with a huff. Feliciana runs from the room, shoving Nonno as she passes him. Nonno sighs, but makes no move to stop or comfort my little sister.

"This is all in your best interests, _nipotina_," Nonno says, entering my room and leaning over to pick up my suitcase for me. "I just want what's best for you, and-"

I interrupt him to begin ranting, heading for the kitchen as I do so, so that I can take all my medication with me. It's all in a bag, a little green one with a heart on it, enough to last me a good two years at least. "And you want someone to keep an eye on the boyfriend you _still_ can't trust, and you want this all to be over with so I don't ruin your reputation as a man in high society, and you're doing this instead of forcing me to have an a-"

"I wouldn't force you to do anything of the sort, Lovina," he scolds me as I take the bag from the counter and open it, checking to make sure it's all really there. "We both know the Lord frowns upon such things."

I hope to God it is all there. The medication, I mean. If it's not I'm fucked. Actually, shit, I _was_ shaking in the car, wasn't I? I'll take some once I get on the road.

Nonno continues, and I look up as he says, "And contrary to what you seem to have drilled into your skull, I do care about you just as much as Feliciana. I-"

"Don't even start that right now!" I shriek, snatching my bag's handle right out of his hand and storming down the hallway, back to the car. "I'm going to your special fucking school, what more do you want from me? I'll be miserable for a whole fucking year and then my life will be ruined. Just _don't_ compare me to Feliciana."

"Lovina, I'm sending you there so you can improve, so you can..." Nonno starts, before stopping midsentence when he sees that I've turned and I'm shooting him the nastiest glare I can muster.

"So I can improve." I repeat darkly. "So I can fucking _improve_. I'm not good enough for _anyone_, am I? Not for my teachers, not for you, not for my parents- Well apparently I was good enough for th-that_ figlio di una cagna_, because look where I'm going now! Are you _happy,_ Nonno? Is this going to_ fix_ everything? Because unless you have a fucking_ time machine_, I don't think so!"

I run out of breath, and stand there, panting, glaring one of the only family members I have left down, until I decide he hasn't gotten the message yet, and quite frankly, I'm just feeling like a bitch. "This is like the Chorea all over again! Just like when you all found out I had it the first time! I know I was only a _child_, Nonno, but do you think I don't remember when you _left_ me there and took Feliciana? Do you know how fucking_ lucky_ it was for _me_ I knew how to call the fucking police? Because some bitch came and tried to take me, and I just started screaming!

"What were you going to do, Nonno? Going to go off and raise just Feliciana? You didn't want to pay for the fucking bills that came with a_ crippled_ child? You're fucking_ loaded_, old man, it wasn't that hard, was it? Was I _that_ much of a bother to you? You wanted to leave me,_ il tuo sangue_, your own_ blood_, on the streets to die because I couldn't fucking stop_ shaking_?"

"Lovi," Antonio's voice says, close behind me, probably having come back in from the garage when he heard me shouting. "Lovi, come on, let's just go..."

"No! Antonio, I will do this, and I will do this _now_!" I scream, forcing his hands off my waist and stepping closer to my grandfather. "You_ regret_ it, don't you, Nonno?" I ask, dropping my voice to a whisper as I stop just in front of him.

A sickening smile has forced itself onto my lips.

It's not sweet.

It's not kind.

It doesn't have even the slightest hint of love in it.

Just hatred and_ bitterness_.

Seventeen years worth.

His eyes go to the ground, instead of meeting mine. I can hear Feliciana sobbing on the stairs, just behind Nonno, and asking if it's true. I don't have the heart to tell her it is.

No. My heart would rather leave it to him to tell her himself.

"You _still_ fucking regret taking me back. You sick fuck." I spit on the ground in front of him, before turning and leaving the house.

I manage to throw myself into the passenger side of the Ferrari before the shaking starts up again, and I just try to sit still while the spasms ripple up and down my body. Working myself up always ends in a spasm attack.

Fucking Nonno. Fucking Chorea. Fucking special school. Fucking spasms. Fucking medication. Fucking Feliciana, making me promise to come back... in Italian.

* * *

**A/N:** Hi~! Uh, it's me. Yeah. I should be working on a TON of other stuff right now, and I'm not... uh, oops. XD Screw summer work, I wanted to get this written down.

Ack, sorry, I thought this was a lot longer than it actually is. And I wrote it all in a day. But I am in love with it. HOWEVER! Since I only did it in a day, I'm sure there are some errors. IF YOU SEE THEM, TELL ME! It helps me as a writer improve! Also, the more reviews I get, the more inspiration I get. The more inspiration I get, the longer chapters I pump out! Yay for long chapters! And in addition to long chapters, you get any sort of chapter at all! Because I'm really sort of lacking it for this story. I'm kind of wondering if I can just discontinue it here. The next chapter is crap at best at the moment. If you have ideas I'd love to hear them~!

If anyone wants to guess what this "traumatic event" Lovi went through earlier is, I'd love to hear what you think. (I need to know if I'm doing this whole not-telling-you-what-the-hell-is-going-on-but-showing-you stuff right!) I made Feli adorable in this one, and Roma an ass. Because I don't like Rome that much. ALSO, I was browsing on the Hetalia wiki, and it said Romano did have Chorea when he was little, until Spain had him dance the tarantella. So in this AU I just had her still have Chorea. And I researched it, apparently it can be handled on meds. It causes spasms to run down your muscles in ripples. If I'm not portraying this right, well... if you have personal experience with that, tell me if I'm doin' it wrong, kay? It's creative license and all that shit lol~

**Translations~!** (All are Italian unless I say otherwise. You should already know what "yes" is in about every language so I'm not including "Si" or "Oui" or anything like that. Capisce? Also, I get my translations from Google Translate, so if I'm wrong, tell me!)

-Nonno - Grandfather

-Mi dispiace - I'm sorry

-Mi tomatita - My little tomato (Spanish)

-Sorella - Sister

-Nipotina - Granddaughter

-Capisce - Do you understand?

-Grazie - Thank you

-Mi corazón - My heart (Spanish)

-Mi ángel - My angel (Spanish)

-Te amo - I love you (Spanish)

-Ti amo - I love you

-No llores por mi culpa - Don't cry on my account (Spanish)

-Vi prometto - I promise

-Vi prometto che tornerò - I promise to come back

-Figlio di una cagna - Son of a bitch

-Il tuo sangue - Your own blood


	2. The School

**A/N:** Ah, you guys... ahaha I'm really sorry for how long that took me to update. Read on, I babble at the end, don't worry. XD

And since I forgot this last time...

**Disclaimer:** No matter how many times I forget to mention this, Hetalia doesn't belong to me. Nor do the characters. Or this cool castle I found online and borrowed the description of and tweaked.

* * *

"Lovi," Antonio gasps, as soon as he enters the garage. There's a thud of fabric hitting the concrete ground, and I can only assume it's my backpack, because Antonio will have brought it for my cellphone and keyrings and such. There's a slamming noise then, and it sounds like a suitcase tipping over and hitting the floor. I know what that sounds like too. Ultimate klutz, and all.

Only about five minutes have passed since I stormed in here, but I can understand why he's shocked. I dumped my suitcase down the steps from the door into the house, and my bag of meds is lying open on the dashboard. I tried to get the pills out because the shaking wouldn't fucking stop, but I couldn't hold it straight and they spilled all over the inside of the car. At that point I'd just fucking given up, and let the spasms keep shaking me, even as I sat there and cried.

I knew it was shit to get worked up when I hadn't taken them, I _knew_ it, but I didn't know I was going to just... _explode_ at him! I didn't know, I didn't... I wasn't expecting to bring up the Chorea again right then.

A hand clamps firmly on my shoulder, and my own fly up to try to gain a little more support using it, clutching weakly at the tan wrist presented to me. Antonio takes both my hands in his and opens the car door, sending a good dozen of the little white pills clattering to the ground. He gets to his knees and holds my forearms tightly to his chest, what he always does when I have this problem.

A loving kiss is pressed to my forehead, even as my neck jerks up desperately, and he locks my forearms tighter to his warm body with one arm while helping me brush my hair out of my eyes with the other. "You didn't take your meds, did you,_ mi corazón_?" he sighs, as the spasms begin to die down.

"I don't know," I groan, and watch helplessly as the spasms in my arms die down but leave them limp and heavy. "I can't even remember this morning."

"It's okay," Antonio sighs, smiling gently, as he begins to pick up the pills. "I'll just gather these back up, and then we can go. Okay, _tomatita_?"

"I can help, I-" I start, but eat my words as I go to sit up, and lurch forward towards the dashboard. My arms still aren't functioning properly, so I can't catch myself, and I just land against the dash with a grunt, and slam my head down against the plastic. "Maybe not," I mutter.

"Just sit still, Lovi," Antonio says, concern and upset dancing in his green eyes. "I'll take care of it. Okay?" He pushes me back into my seat from the side, and then buckles me into the car.

I just let my head roll back against the side of the seat and watch him out of the corner of my eye as he picks up the pills, one at a time, gathering them all in his hand. Some dark recess of my mind informs me he'll be done with the ones on the ground soon, and his hand is almost full. I turn back to the dashboard, where the medicine bag and the pill bottles still sit, and I reach for the one all these tiny white ones came from, intending to hand it to him when he starts to look for it.

I get it all the way over the side of the door and everything, my right arm straining to hold the bottle where he'll see it, but then my hand starts trembling again, and the bottle slips right out from between my fingers. It hits the ground with a loud, empty clatter, and bounces a few more times before stopping. Antonio looks up at the sound, and his eyes lock with mine. Mine are startled, furious, maybe even disappointed. His just look sad and angry. Not angry with me. Angry with Nonno.

I let out a half-sob, half-scream, and bring my hand back in to my body, before curling it tightly around a few strands of my hair and tugging in frustration. The hair rips right out of my scalp with a painful jolt, and I curl in on myself around the still-shaking hand, willing it to stop already.

"Lovi..." Antonio says helplessly, already having deposited the pills in the bottle, and now at my side once more. "Shh, it's okay. You're okay. Alright? _Está bien, estás bien_."

"N-No, it's not okay!" I exclaim, slamming my head back against the headrest of the seat. "It's not okay, Antonio, alright? It's never going to be okay again! I-I'll never be good enough for you, I'll never stop shaking like this, I'll never be able to do anything properly, and I'll never be the same after I get back from this fucking school! Neither will you! I don't deserve you, Antonio! I never have, and you don't deserve having to deal with me!_ Sono a pezzi, non sono abbastanza buono per nessuno_!"

"Don't say that, Lovi!" Antonio says fiercely, cupping the back of my head in his hand to keep me from hitting it again, and pressing a kiss to my forehead passionately. His arms wrap tightly around me, and he holds me close to him as my arms start shaking again. "Lovina Vargas. I have loved you for as long as I've known you, and _Dios lo sabe_ it's been long enough! You are good enough for me! How many times do I have to tell you it doesn't matter to me if you have this the rest of your life? I love you, Lovi, _mi corazón, mi ángel, mi querida, mi amor, te amo_. It's not about deserving anything, Lovi, because I love you. And you love me. Alright?"

"_Ti amo, è idiota spagnolo_," I sigh, letting his warmth and love envelop me while the shaking finally dies down.

* * *

When I finally stopped trying to help Antonio clean up all the pills, he got it done in only a few minutes, before packing the bottle back into my medicine bag, and the medicine bag into my suitcase. After, of course, giving me my daily pills and a bottle of water to down them with. Then we got on the road, starting for the address Antonio had gotten from Nonno. I recline in the seat, letting my arms hang on the headrest above my head, and allowing the wind to whip my curls out behind me.

Thank God Antonio's 19. He can legally drive me wherever the fuck I need to be driven. Otherwise Nonno would have had to take me. And I think this is going to be a pretty long ride, too. Yeah, I'm 17, so I should be allowed to at least drive with someone who meets the requirements for an instructor, but I can't. I'm not allowed to drive because of the Chorea and how often it comes back, at just random times. This fucking disease ruins everything.

Christ, I never would have thought a fever could have caused all this. Just one fever. And Nonno didn't fucking medicate us, because he was probably screwing some whore into the mattress. That one fever, while we were still in Italy, that's what left me where I am now. It's all his fault. All Nonno's fault for my disease. And yet he didn't want to pay for my fucking medication. God. I can't believe I'm related to this bastard.

"You okay, Lovi? You're awful quiet," Antonio says, glancing over at me for an instant before looking back to the road. "Do you want to stop somewhere and get something to eat? I think there's a McDonald's up there somewhere."

"Eh..." I mumble, sitting up a little straighter and rubbing at my stomach idly. "I suppose I am kinda hungry. I didn't eat because I knew they were all going to be watching me all lunch period. But don't make me eat McDonald's food. That shit is so coated in grease I might throw up just smelling it."

"Lovi!" he yelps, almost sending the car off the road in his surprise. "You need to stop this not-eating business! Lovi! Oh, _mierda. Voy a sacar más de aquí y conseguir algo. Tienes que comer_!"

"I know, I know," I sigh, toying with a lock of my hair while he brings the car off the highway, and turns down some road or other to find a restaurant.

It only takes him a few minutes to find one that's not a fast-food joint, and it's some place called Friendly's. He pulls the car right up beside the take out door, and puts the convertible roof up, along with all the windows. "What do you have in mind?" he asks, leaning on the hood of the car and eyeing me concernedly. "Anything specific?"

"Ngh, just something with cheese," I shrug, before going back to playing with my hair.

He goes inside, and I can see him talking to the kid working at the take out counter. Bored to tears within seconds of watching Antonio try to pick something off the menu, I search through the glove box for the headband I know I left in here a few weeks ago. I find it beneath a package of condoms I know are Nonno's, and close the box back up after removing it. It's red, with white polka dots. I don't really care that it doesn't match my outfit very well, I just pull it down over my head and then back up, pulling most of the hair out of my face.

I can only wonder, as I sit there, still waiting, what I might look like to someone walking by right now. Antonio inside, myself in the passenger's seat. Do they think I'm his wife?

They probably know I'm not a whore or something, because even though I'm wearing my denim blouse unbuttoned a little, I've got a red tank top on underneath that, pulled up pretty high. And even though I'm wearing white shorts, which always scream either "slut," or "rich bitch," mine go halfway down my thighs so they're not revealing much of anything. I haven't really felt comfortable wearing anything too revealing since...

Ngh, no. I'm _not_ thinking about that.

"Here you go, Lovi," Antonio says cheerfully, sliding a black styrafoam container through the window. I take it from him and place it on my lap, pleased to find it's warm and smells really good.

"What is it?" I ask, as he comes around the front of the car and slides back into his seat.

"I got you macaroni and cheese," he beams, as he opens the container for me, showing me the yellowy pasta inside. "And I just got a burger. I knew you wouldn't want one though."

"Okay," I say placidly, accepting the black plastic fork he hands me, and taking a small bite of the food.

I can see his smile fade, even from the corner of my eye, and he doesn't bother to begin eating before he starts driving again. "Alright, Lovi," he sighs, and I can't tell whether he's addressing me or just saying my name. Either way, I know he wasn't asking for a response, so I stay quiet.

We eat (and he drives) in silence for a good half an hour, but I don't finish the pasta before I'm already full. I scowl down at the half-empty container, and nudge some more of it around with the fork before closing the lid. I just drop it onto the boxy thing between our two seats, but Antonio frowns down at it.

"Done already?" he asks, nudging the box with his elbow. "I think there was still a good amount of food in there, _amor_,"

"_Sí_, I-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Damnit Lovina, I care too much about you to let you do this to yourself! You have to eat! I... I will not let you starve yourself!" he snaps, pulling the car off the highway, and putting it in park. He takes the box from where it sits between us, and drops it back on my lap. "_Cómetelo_!"

"Antonio, I..." I start again, my voice cracking not even halfway into his name. "I just can't..."

"Lovina, Lovina, Lovina," he chants, leaning over the gap between us, and drawing me tightly into his embrace. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Just take me to Nonno's fucking school," I mutter, clutching tight to his lapels even as I say so.

I don't want him to let go. Not now, not ever.

But he's got to, if we're going to get anywhere. And for that matter, to that stupid fucking school. I just want to get the awkward-ass introductions over with, so I can board myself up in whatever room they give me, and get the fuck to sleep. "I want to get this over with," I tell him.

"It will wait a few more minutes, _mi tomatina_," he frowns, stroking my hair with one hand like he always does when I'm upset. "What's on your mind, hmm?"

"I just want this all to never have happened," I whisper, feeling as desolate as when Nonno left me on the street, when I was just a little girl.

Except now maybe even worse. Which I never would have thought possible.

"Well I can't change time back," he says, pulling back and brushing a few strands of hair out of my face, and locking eyes with me. "But I can promise you that I'll always be here for you, Lovi. I'll stay with you and support you and make sure you have everything you could possibly need, okay? _Vi prometto_, isn't it? I promise you. _Te lo prometo. Siempre_."

"Okay, I believe you, corny bastard," I murmur, summoning up a smile for his sake. "Come on, let's just go."

"Okay Lovi," he says again, giving me one last once-over before beginning to drive again.

* * *

It only takes another hour or so to get to the place, but I fall asleep in the car before we get there.

See normally, I can only sleep when there's someone warm right beside me. Most nights that's Antonio, but when he's not there, it's Feli.

But the past few weeks, ever since the incident, I can't bear to. So I haven't been getting much sleep at all. But the car is different enough from my bed for me to allow myself to fall asleep here, because it's not at all similar to... where _it_ happened.

Antonio shakes me gently awake after a while. My eyes open to his softly apologetic smile, and he explains his reasons for waking me up even as he exits the car and goes to pull our bags out of the trunk.

"I would have let you sleep, _tomatita_," he says, flipping the trunk open behind me. "But we got here a few minutes ago, and it's already getting a little late, so I figured you would want to meet everyone and then just get to bed."

"_Grazie_, Antonio," I yawn, stretching like a cat, my wrists crossed as the heels of my palms rest on the dashboard. After deeming myself awake enough not to fall out of the car as soon as I go to move, I unbuckle the seatbelt and exit the Ferarri. It takes a few seconds for my surroundings to register, but when I realize where I'm standing, I let loose a gasp.

We're on an immense brick drive, and it circles around a miniature garden before continuing down to connect with the road. A guard tower complete with a huge cast iron gate blocks the drive from the road, which appears to be a stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere. Eight-foot stone walls spin out from the matching guard posts at the drive to either side of me, and I spin on my heel to follow one of them, only to freeze as I see what it disappears behind.

"_Che cazzo_," I breathe, straining my neck to look up at the immense stone ediface before me. "What is this shit, a castle?"

It's got to be at least five stories tall, and built completely of some light-gray colored stone. There are even those slit-like windows that archers are supposed to fire shit out of, and decorative glass ones lower down. Two giant oak doors make up the entire entrance, and the antiquated rings that function as knockers contrast sharply with the modernity of the driveway and the guard towers alike. I think there's even a few spiral towers high up on the thing, four of them, probably, one on each corner. I can see two of them, anyway. Even for me, this is pretty fucking impressive. Nonno has a fucking vacation mansion back in Rome that all the workers and extended family stay in- and that's in front of a vineyard. So when I say I know impressive when I see it, I fucking know impressive when I see it.

"_Sí,_" Antonio chirps, handing me my backpack as he passes me to get his keys, which he seems to have dropped by the driver's seat. He tosses them to a man I didn't even notice before, standing to attention in a red valet outfit, and the man catches them deftly, while Antonio takes both our bags and stops at my side. "Ready, Lovi?"

"You got the right address, right?" I splutter, as he wraps an arm around my waist and leads me towards the enormous front doors when it becomes apparent to him I'm not going to move. "Nonno... he didn't give you directions to some medieval torture festival or something, right? Because this doesn't look like a fucking school of any sort to me, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!"

"_Sí_, this is the right place, Lovi," he repeats, still smiling hugely. "I triple checked it and everything! It's nice here, right?"

Before I can snatch his hand away, he's taken one of the knockers and slammed it against the wood. The sound resounds heavily in the darkening air around us, and I glance behind me as the sound of the Ferarri being driven off the driveway towards some sort of garage building reaches my ears. By the time I've turned back around, the door is already open, and I jump, startled, as an unfamiliar face peeks out. It's another servant of some sort, I suppose, because it's a lady dressed in the same red-and-gold uniform-ish outfit as the valet was.

The first thing that strikes me about her are her vivid blue eyes. They have this sort of shine to them that make me wonder if she cries often. She also has pale blond hair, cropped close around her face, but it's obvious she's female, because of the rather large-

"Wow, nice knockers!" Antonio exclaims, observing the iron ring he holds in his hand, not noticing the woman just inside the door.

...he does have a point. I mean, Antonio is oblivious and I wouldn't expect him to understand what he was saying, but, _Cristo _does this woman have a chest. I mean,_ che cazzo_, are those real? They've got to be size like... G!

Her face lights up with pinks and reds, and you can just tell from her reaction she gets that a lot. I smack my oblivious-as-ever boyfriend upside the head, and he starts whining at me, but I ignore him in favor of offering the girl an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, he didn't mean-" I begin, but she pouts a little and cuts me off.

"Didn't mean me, he meant the things on the doors, I know I know. He's not the first and he won't be the last. You two must be Lovina Vargas and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Follow me, please."

"Uh..." I say _oh-so-intelligently_ as she shoves the door a little further open, and gestures for us to follow her.

The inside of the mansion/castle/school/whatever-the-fuck-we're-calling-it is dark; really dark. In fact, it's dark to the point that within the three seconds it takes me to determine I can't see shit's worth of the actual grand fucking parlor entranceway, the servant girl has disappeared into the darkness without us.

It takes her a moment to realize we aren't following her, and then she returns, an unlit candle in one hand, and a nervous smile suddenly fixed over her formerly angry visage. "So sorry!" she apologizes quickly, worrying her bottom lip anxiously. "I-I've kind of had a long day! I'm so sorry, p-please don't hate me!"

"Ah, we don't hate you!" Antonio says quickly, obviously sensing she's about to break down crying any second now. "It's okay! Can you just... show us to where we're supposed to be, please?"

I quirk an eyebrow, nervously clutching Antonio's arm just a little tighter.

Shit, talk about an emotional 180. This isn't some bipolar-specialty-school or something, right?

Because I can change emotions quickly, but only going from good moods to bad ones. I've yet to figure out if it works the other way around.

"Of course, of course!" she exclaims, bowing quickly in our direction, before straightening and clapping her hands twice. "Ludwig, Natalia, can you take Lovina and Antonio's bags to the proper rooms, please?"

I look around, one eyebrow arched and half-expecting nothing to happen, but jump back a step as two younger teens step out of the shadows on either side of us and remove our suitcases from our hands.

The boy, on Antonio's side, has slicked-back blonde hair and pale skin. His skin is a shade darker than the servant girl before us, and his hair is a more concentrated blond. His eyes are a clearer shade of blue, and even though they probably match the clearest summer sky, I find myself instantly distrusting him. Probably because he smells like freaking potatoes. (I hate potatoes.)

My bag is practically snatched from my hand, by a short girl of perhaps 13. She has waist-length platinum blond hair, and disturbingly glinting eyes that observe me with a detached sort of scrutiny. Her dress is the same gold and red combination as every other person I've yet to see here, but styled with a larger skirt than the short-haired girl with the candle. This one also has a bow; on any other child I might call it cute, but not on her. There's something about her that makes me very wary. Like someone with a knife stuffed in their sock or something. That lump in her sock _isn't_... is it?

"Please follow me," the blond woman repeats as the two younger servants disappear into the dark with our bags. She starts down a long stretch of oriental-carpeted hallway to our right, and we have no choice but to struggle to keep up with the pace she sets.

I can't keep count of all the different corners we turn, but I know it takes a pretty freaking long time to get wherever it is she's taking us. The corners of the high ceiling are coated in cobwebs, (or maybe they're spider webs) and a very obvious chill runs down my spine as we pass several suits of armor lined up along the walls. There are swords, axes and weird chain-ball-spiked things I don't know what the fuck to call, and my whimsical (and negative) imagination wonders who these weapons have killed in the past.

"How big is this place, anyway?" Antonio wonders aloud, his neck craned as he watches the decorative ceiling pass above us, and I tug him closer to my side to keep him from walking into a table. He blinks, momentarily startled out of his reverie, smiles a thanks in my direction, and looks back up at the ceiling to continue to observe it.

She seems to sigh a little, before launching into a speech about what the castle consists of. "The castle has four floors, as well as one underground floor of old dungeons. There are numerous towers, secret passageways and subterranean labyrinths - which are underground mazes."

I shoot Antonio a curious glance as she continues speaking, and he returns it with an excited glance, and shrugs.

"Set amid approximately four acres of gardens and terraces, the twenty-eight-room granite castle features: seventeen bedrooms which includes staff quarters, a great hall, several spiral stone stairways, a miniature chapel with gothic windows, library, sun room, wine cellar, vast kitchen, upper and lower pantry complete with a dumb waiter..."

"You shouldn't call the help dumb," Antonio interrupts her, frowning a little.

"It's not a real waiter, idiota," I hiss, smacking him lightly on the side of the head. "A dumbwaiter is like a mini elevator in the wall for moving stuff up from the kitchen. Sorry. You were saying?"

"...two dining rooms and ten magnificent fireplaces. Additional amenities include a caretakers cottage, an indoor tennis court, a four-story tower." she finishes, flashing us a sweet smile over her shoulder, and I'm surprised to see she's not even out of breath.

"Wow," Antonio grins, clutching my hand tightly in his. "This is cool."

"Glad you like it, at least," I murmur darkly, as the reason we're here at all returns to my memory. "We'll be here a fucking _year_."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay! Well here's your dose of **long-awaited** derp. And me. Which is synonymous to derp. I was gonna cut this off after the knockers comment (heh tricky bitch aren't I, sneaking that in there? Frankenstein-parody-movie reference, anyone? "Vhy thank you, doctor!") but it just wasn't long enough, so I went into intros. Random valet is no one _yet_, maybe Eduard (Estonia) if I feel personified later, the servant with the knockers is Katyusha, (Ukraine) (is that even her legit human name?) Natalia is Natalia, (Belarus) Ludwig is Ludwig. (Germany) I made Ludwig younger because I figured Feli is also younger in this, and this was how I was gonna stick a bit of GerIta in- Roma knows Germania, Germania's son works in the school/mansion/castle/what-the-fucking-ever and Germania's older son is there (That's Gilbert.) with his girlfriend Madeline (Canada! Yay PruCan!). There are other... couples and stuff. Yeah. You'll see.

NEXT CHAPTER I'll start the **introductions to the other characters**, (Ahem, Gilbert, Madeline, etc...) but until I get the inspiration to write that all out, you aren't getting anything. And since I'm a bitch (No I'm not, please don't hate me, I'm just really busy!), you all get to give me 5 more reviews before I post the next chapter. (And it might be a little late anyway because I might not have it done, and I'm TRYING to write Kidnapping Tomatoes.

Also... yeah, you don't get to see if you were right on your guesses. Boo-hoo, I'm so mean. BUT! You will next chapter... yeah, a LOT. You'll get it when you... read... it... which isn't written... ah... Hooray, more incentive to review, right? (Really you guys... reviews make a writer's day. Seriously. Like, you don't even know. Just type up a quick sentence or two and say you liked it! Because I'm seriously starting to get sick of feeling inferior to writers with HUNDREDS of reviews who "_Writ liek ths an wouldnt no a pl0t if it bited them in theyre ass_."


	3. The Meeting

**A/N:** Hey! It's me again~ haha fancy that. This came a lot sooner than the last one, huh? And I'd like to take this opportunity right now to thank all you guys for your awesome reviews~! I noticed a few of you got the story alert probably from following me as an Author, not because you'd read the story, and picked this one up as well, and I'm SO grateful for that! Seriously, I love everything and anything you guys have to say about my stuff. It just makes my day. I didn't get my 10 reviews yet, but eh, whatever. Close enough. xD I'm lazy, and I know you guys are even MORE lazy, and you HATE leaving reviews because you're lazy, but that's okay, cause I know I've got my drifters and shadow-lurkers and all those other creepy readers who never follow or favorite or anything~! Just... meh whatever. I don't mind if you don't review, (even though they DO make me really happy,) but could you guys at least like, follow it or favorite it? Because other readers see that now, and they're gonna get really judgemental now and only read the ones with lots of follows, faves and reviews. Of which I don't have a lot of any :(

**ALSO:** I forgot to mention... Romulus (Rome) (...that's his name, right?) is Lovi's Nonno (grandfather,) and he's rich-buddies with Mr. Beilschmidt (Gil and Luddy's granddaddy,) who RUNS the "special school." Hope that clears some stuff up in this (and maybe last) chapter.

**Disclaimer~!:** Hetalia and all the derptastic characters are STILL not mine~! But this derpy plot is. And the number derp belongs to iCarly I think... (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, Derp, 6!)

* * *

The blonde -servant?- finally stops us after God knows how long of walking through those freaking identical hallways, and gestures to another large set of wooden doors, that, while impressive, are maybe half the size of those at the entrance.

"Here you are... dinner's not served for another half an hour, but I'm sure you'd like to meet the other students." she bows, before starting back down the hallway, leaving Antonio and I to exchange nervous glances. My stomach turns flips in my body, and I find myself suddenly wishing I could change or wash up before meeting the others in the program.

"Oh!" the servant exclaims, jumping practically a foot in the air and spinning around to come rushing back to us. "I almost forgot! My name is Katyusha- if you need anything, please ask after me! I'll be more than happy to help out!"

"Alright," I say, a tiny grateful smile crossing my lips briefly. "Thank you."

"Oh you're very welcome!" she cries, before nodding once at Antonio and scurrying back through the dark hallways (and as I just now realize, unlit candle still in hand).

We stand for a moment in silence, first watching Katyusha's retreating figure, and then our own hands. I intertwine my fingers with Antonio's and squeeze his hand for some sort of moral support. I'm still nervous.

"Ready, Lovi?" he asks, smiling a little for my sake.

I shake my head, but place a hand on the doorknob anyway. "This isn't something I can prepare for," I whisper, before tugging the door open and stepping in (so I can't chicken out... because if I wait any longer I swear I will.)

We appear to be standing in what looks like a sun room. There are ceiling high windows that go from wall to wall on three of the four walls, and through each I get a different view of the grounds behind the castle. They're rather beautiful from what I can see, topiary animals and flower designs scattered across the large area like artwork. There's what looks almost like a garden hidden behind a few topiary sculptures of national monuments (the Tokyo Tower, Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State building, the Leaning Tower of Piza), and a tiny fragment of hope burns in my chest at the sight of it. I love gardening. I hope I can grow tomatoes here.

But more pressingly is what I can see _inside_ the room. There are quite a few people here already. I count at least six people, and maybe even more, but I can't see the whole room because of the large potted -and very leafy- plants all over it.

There is a large round garden table made of metal latticing in the center of the room, and three people are sitting around it. Two of them are cuddling, and one is speaking to another sitting on the floor nearby. The remaining two of the six I'd seen originally were perched on a stationary bench swing, the kind with cushions and wicker wraps on the arms. Even as I stand there another two people emerge from behind a row of plants, and look at Antonio and I curiously.

The first thing that registers in my mind is that none of the females present are showing either. We must be around the same time.

"Nobody's going to start the introductions?" a blonde girl with piercing green eyes -and extremely large, dark eyebrows- asks the room as a whole, effectively shattering the silence, and glancing back and forth at all of them, before turning back to us. She rises (from the ground- she appears to have been speaking with the long-haired blond boy sitting at the table) as she continues speaking, and crosses the room until she's directly in front of us, offering her hand for me to shake. "Pity. Rude wankers. I'm Alice. Alice Kirkland of Great Britain."

"Lovina Vargas," I say rather simply, not being able to think of anything else to say at the moment. I'm a little lost in her eyes, trying in vain to recall where I've seen her before. She looks _familiar_. Not like the, 'Oh, I _know_ you!' kind of familiar, just like the, 'I've seen this face before...' kind of familiar. Shut up, it makes sense, dammit.

I take her hand hesitantly, and she shakes it politely, not hard enough to make me nervous, but just tightly enough for me to recognize the warm sentiment behind it, and I lock eyes with her for an instant, trying to convey the gratitude I'm feeling.

The blonde boy -er, man?- with the wavy hair down to his shoulders rises from the chair he'd been perched in, and joins Alice (who I assume is his girlfriend), extending a hand in greeting as Alice shakes Antonio's hand.

"Francis Bonnefoy, of France, at your service, mon cher," he coos, in a decidedly realistic French accent.

As soon as I place my palm in his hand though, he catches it and keeps it there, turning my hand over so as to press a light kiss to the back of it. My first reaction is to be startled, as I'm quite lost in his azure blue eyes, (with the same reaction as the one I'd had towards Alice, actually, like I've seen his face before somewhere,) but when he shoots me a flirtatious smirk, the moment dies and I scowl down at him. He shrugs, taking my disdainful glare in stride, as he moves on to shake a rather livid-looking Antonio's hand.

"I'm Madeline," the blonde haired, lavender-eyed girl in the swinging seat says, waving at us, a kind smile on her face and reflected in her eyes. Despite the warm welcome she seems to be offering us, she doesn't rise to greet us like Alice and Francis did. I choose not to make a comment about that.

"I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, her _awesome_ boyfriend!" the man sitting beside her calls proudly, with a noticeable German accent, and I find myself taking a second look at him before I realize his sickly pale skin, red eyes and almost white hair make him an albino. "Maybe you met Luddy on your way in? Blond, blue eyes, about this  
high?" he asks, holding a hand up to his shoulder. "He's my bruder. Not as awesome as me, but he does what he can, am I right?"

I take an instant disliking to the albino man (or should I call him a boy? He acts like one and only looks Antonio's age...) just as I did to the French boy a few moments ago.

His arrogance -like the French boy's- reminds me of the attitudes of so many rich boys I've met before. All of them just wanted sex and expensive toys. Even the married ones. I don't like that he's talking about his brother working as though he's gloating he doesn't have to.

"How the fuck come you're an albino and your brother looks normal? I thought albinism was a recessive gene," I demand, (And although it really just slipped out, I didn't flinch when I asked him about his origins) placing one hand on my hip. "And why the fuck is your little brother working here? He didn't get someone knocked up too, did he?"

"Dad was an albino," Gilbert says cheerfully, threading his fingers through Madeline's more tightly. "My mom was too. But she died -car crash- when I was real little, so my dad remarried and that's when little Luddy came around. He's here -and I would be out there with him if I hadn't been in college before this happened- 'cause we live with our grandfather. That's Mr. Beilschmidt, the scary-lookin' ass with the blond dreads you'll be introduced to later as the creator of this shit-headed program."

"...oh." I murmur, as Gilbert ignores me in favor of pressing a chaste kiss to the blonde girl's -Madeline's- cheek to calm her down. It almost looks like our briefly heated exchange has upset her, but I know better than to point such things out. Is there something off about her, or is it just me...? Eh, whatever, I'll find out eventually, won't I?

"Well what about you, princess? How'd you get knocked up? And Romulus' granddaughter, too? Beilschmidt talks about him all the time, you know," a blonde girl with stunning blue eyes (and incredibly expensive glasses... I know because I saw an advertisement for the exact pair of them, the same red frames and everything,) asks, her hand locked tightly in that of a very intimidating platinum blonde boy with violet eyes, both of them perhaps my age or a little younger. "Sounded to me like he was a real dick about all that kinda shit."

"W-We don't like to talk about it," Antonio answers quickly in my place, offering a charming smile to try to diffuse the atmosphere before someone explodes.

Thank God, too, because I froze up as soon as the insolent bitch asked the question. Like hell I was going to tell them about-

"Emily, you should not be so rude," her boyfriend simpers in a sickeningly childish tone of voice, with a distinctly Russian accent. "We are all among friends here, da? I am Ivan Braginsky, and this is Emily Jones."

...Braginsky... I know that name from somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it at the moment. It sounds almost like a name my uncle Vinny has mentioned before, but then again he mentions a lot of names. And I have a big Italian family, so... it could have been mentioned by any of them, but... it definitely sounds like it's been said with an Italian accent before around me, and following a string of cusswords I'm not supposed to hear because they're Italian and that makes them three times as bad.

...well and Vinny's in the mafia. But I'm not supposed to tell anyone that either, obviously.

"Emily F. Jones," she corrects him, a pout taking up residence on her lips as she locks gazes with him.

"Ahem. I am Honda Kiku," a slight, Japanese-looking boy says, awkwardly standing halfway between the potted plants and a tired-looking brunette girl who looks about my age. "I am pleased to meet you."

I nod at him, not really sure what to do or not do in order to impress someone of such an unfamiliar culture, but I blink in surprise when the tanned brunette girl with him slings an arm over his shoulder and yawns loudly.

"'M Hera," she sighs, tilting her head dreamily as she appears to contemplate me beneath thick brown eyelashes. "Hera Karpusi."

"Ah... that's everyone then?" Antonio asks sheepishly, clutching my hand tightly again. "Yes... ah, I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and this is Lovina Vargas."

"Spanish and Italian," Francis, the blonde boy with the wavy hair and the stubble remarks. "Two countries of passion makes for passionate lovers, non?"

He chuckles at his own joke, before realizing nobody else is laughing. The Japanese boy looks extremely off-put by the whole situation, and his girlfriend appears to be sleeping on his shoulder. Ivan and Emily just stare at the French boy, uncomprehending. Madeline and Gilbert look to be rather preoccupied with whispering in each other's ears, and Alice is watching the pair of us nervously.

I clench my teeth together and squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the memories. It takes a few seconds.

Even when I've succeeded with that, I can't block the thoughts pervading my mind about how I wouldn't know what kind of lover Antonio is, because we've never-

"Oh, you insensitive _prick_!" Alice's loud voice suddenly exclaims, and I hear the sound of a palm smacking the back of a head -one I know from experience- before a distinctly French whine resounds, and I open my eyes.

Alice is standing much closer to me now, looking concerned, and Antonio is right beside her, mirroring the expression. If I wasn't so mentally boggled at the moment, I would have laughed at the sight. As it is, I only stare at them blankly. I probably look like I'm in a daze, and I am. I can't focus on their faces, because there's too much going on in my mind.

"Lovi?" Antonio is asking, and I blink a few times, trying to ground myself from the experience of the temporary space-out. It happens every so often, especially when I'm on the meds, but I can't help it. Certainly not when I'm thinking about topics like THAT.

Alice and Antonio start fretting, and I still can't quite speak, even if only from the shock Francis' remark gave me, so I listen instead.

"What did I do?" Francis mutters, almost far enough away for me to not be able to hear him.

"Well... Old Beilschmidt did say we'd be getting a... special case, so we ought to watch what we said," Gilbert murmurs in reply.

There's a pause, in which any number of things could be done or said, and I hear distinctly French- and German-sounding chuckles.

"Gil, stop that! You're being horrible! You would be just as worried as Antonio or Alice if I'd been..." Madeline trails off as if thinking about it. "It's not something to laugh about! Show a little more compassion!"

"Hey hey hey, the awesome me would never let that happen to you, Birdie!" Gilbert complains, sounding truly startled by what his girlfriend is saying.

"But what if it did? You wouldn't want some jerk in the back of the room of the place where I'm supposed to be safe laughing at me either!"

...I decide right there I like Madeline and Alice both quite a lot. Even though I haven't told any of them a word about my situation, they seem to understand. And it's such a nice change from the stares and whispers I got at school.

I finally snap back to at least a semi-focused state of mind, and blink as my eyes focus on Antonio's hand which has been waving in front of my face.

"I'm okay," I sigh, grabbing for Antonio's arm and linking it in mine for support. "I'm good now. I-It's okay, he didn't know."

"If you're certain..." Alice says hesitantly, but I can see how disconcerted she is just by looking in her eyes.

"Yeah. Happens all the time," I shrug. "Isn't dinner soon?"

I can see I don't have Antonio entirely convinced, but he's never fully convinced I'm alright. I seem to have Alice though, an she gives a sharp nod before leading the pair of us to the dining room, beginning to ramble off a list of things we should know.

* * *

**A/N:** ...yeah. I apologize cause this one's a fair bit shorter than the other two, but I got this ALL down last night, and I just had to end it there. Introductions and all. I didn't want to drag into dinnertime or anything, 'cause then it'd be uncomfortably long. AND, I hope this chapter answered some of your questions... hooray for tiny context clues leading up to SUBPLOTS! "I LOVE subplots! (weddings!) Drinks all around!" (XD Pirates of the Caribbean, anyone, anyone? No? *cricket*)

So... I've got my FrUK, RusAme, PruCan, and GiriPan (if that's how you spell that one?)! And sorry in advance if I don't do Giripan very well... this is the first time I've EVER written Japan OR Greece. Hera's gonna be sleeping most of the time. xD She's simple enough I suppose. I also apologize to USUK fans... but I really didn't want to have to choose who'd be the uke... because naturally that one would be the girl. I didn't want to have to deal with Alice and Alfred OR Emily and Arthur, 'cause that'd just be a real pain in the ass. I like them better as both girls and both best friends, and I've left the Bad Touch Trio intact! Yay!

Thoughts, comments, hatemail for my use of RusAme, I don't care! Leave it in a review, please! ...and I also really desperately need ideas for what can happen at that dinner, 'cause I've got nothing except a lot of sexual jokes and awkward silences.


	4. The Dinner

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia's (still) not mine. Nothing's changed there.

...sorry I'm late. Again. Anyway, this chapter is mostly just to set up the majority of the future problems. A better detail on everyones' backgrounds. That sorta thing.

* * *

"The first thing you'll probably want to know is that the room we were just in is called the sun room," Alice says quickly, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure we're actually following her away from the sun room. "So far it seems to be a pretty nice place, and it's the only place we've all been, other than the dorms. I'd say it's safe to wager that'll be a common area of sorts, and-"

"You've been to the dorms already?" I interrupt her, frowning, remembering the weird little kids in uniforms taking our bags from us.

"Well, yes, we brought our bags up just earlier today. Didn't you?" Alice asks, looking perplexedly over her shoulder at me.

"No, there were these two nice attendants who took our bags up for us!" Antonio says cheerfully, starting to swing our intertwined hands back and forth between us, before I squeeze his tightly to stop him. He shoots me a disappointed look, but doesn't press the matter.

"Is that because we were the last ones here?" I wonder aloud, as I walk a little closer to Antonio when we pass one particularly dark corridor on our left.

"Probably a safe bet," Alice agrees, before continuing. "Anyway, I'm a bit disappointed with the rooming situation really, there are separate dorms for males and females. I can't keep an eye on Francis when I'm not in the same room as him… it's not just the girls he goes after either…"

"Separate dorms?" I snap, my eyes focusing on the back of Alice's head, and her short-cropped blonde hair twirls as she twists over her shoulder once again to look at me.

"Yes? All the girls in one room and the lads in the other." She says carefully. "Are you sure you'll-"

"You'll be fine, Lovi," Antonio assures me, hurrying forward to stop before me, and hold my face gently in front of his own. "This place has excellent security all over the place, even on the grounds. Your _abuelo _spoke to me about it before we left. There are guards around the clock outside every possible entrance, and there is absolutely no way anyone from the outside can get in."

"But…" I mutter, pulling my eyes away from his almost magnetic gaze. _But I don't want to sleep alone, _I think to myself.

"Oh, no," Alice chimes in. "There's absolutely nothing to worry about! My parents had a full background check done on the place before they dared send Francis and I here!"

I just nod, shoving Antonio forward to inform him I want to continue walking. He gets the hint, and Alice and him precede me down the hallway, Antonio linking hands with me again. I utilize the silence to take another good look at Alice -or, the back of her head, at least- because I have the strangest sense of having seen her before.

It's like she can feel my eyes lingering in her hair, because she turns around, one eyebrow raised skeptically. I flush a bright shade of pink and look down, suddenly finding a thousand reasons to watch the carpeting pass beneath me.

"D'you perhaps want to hear what I've deduced so far about why everyone's here?" Alice asks, voice hesitant at the end, as though she's testing the metaphorical water, wondering if we'll condone her gossip.

"Sure," I answer automatically, blinking when I realize I said that out loud. Because while the proper side of me, the side Nonno would want me to be and Feliciana would be, wants me to leave it alone and pretend it never happened.

But Nonno and Feliciana aren't here... Lovina Romana Vargas is, and she wants to know what the fuck everyone else's problems are, propriety be damned.

A surprised grin quickly forms on Alice's features, before morphing into a mischievous one that actually fits her quite well, all things considered. And here I'd had her tagged as a goody two shoes.

"Brilliant... shall we start with the rudest first, then? Emily F. Jones. I've known her since I was little. While she is my best mate, she's a right pompous bitch at times, especially back there. She's the daughter of an incredibly wealthy pair of actors... They're mostly popular in the states. But she's been spoiled rotten ever since she was born, so she's used to getting her way, to say the least."

"Unsurprising," I mutter, and catch Alice grinning again out of the corner of my eye.

"Yes... She told me herself she forgot not using a condom can have some rather permanent effects." Alice pauses, and sighs dramatically. "She's bloody brilliant, I swear, but sometimes that girl just does not use her head. And she's so ridiculously pro-life, she downright refused anything her parents suggested except this place."

"Oh," I snort. "She's one of THOSE types."

"Yes, one of THOSE types," Alice agrees with a dark chuckle.

"But..." Antonio interrupts her, looking confused. "If Emily is your best friend, why are you so comfortable talking about her behind her back?"

"...you're not rich, are you?" the British girl deadpans.

Antonio just shakes his head.

I sigh, but don't even attempt to explain it to Antonio. I've tried before, but perhaps Alice can get it through his thick skull. It's definitely something you have to be born rich to understand. Alice goes about explaining it to him for me, and I listen, prepared to translate anything he doesn't understand.

"When you're born into a... family of wealth, people treat you differently than if you're raised like a normal child," Alice begins, addressing Antonio as she walks backwards ahead of us down the same hallway. (How long is this shit anyway? It feels like we've been walking forever!) "There are... ah, blimey, how do I put this? There are different expectations on a rich child... and your parents expect you to be friends with all their friends' children. You're meant to be social, to go to parties, to throw the better parties yourself, to show off, and most importantly to brag."

Hell, isn't that the truth. Nonno always liked Feliciana better (despite how many times he denies it,) because she was the social butterfly. I (literally) tried to bite anyone who did something I didn't like. People scared me. I wasn't as socially adept as Feliciana, and when they looked at me the way they did, I would get upset.

Feliciana could follow fashion trends like a dog chasing its tail, so she fit in with all the other kids before I could even figure out what the next big thing was. In fact me forcing her to take me out shopping with her was the only way I could ever keep up with any sort of trend. I'll probably need a whole new wardrobe next year... first because of the size change, but second because I won't have been shopping in all that time.

Feliciana showed off better than I did because she was really artistic as a kid; all I could do was draw, and compared to one of Feliciana's paintings, my sketches were nothing. I could still get the odd comment every now and then, but it was nothing like Feliciana's constant little river of praise.

As far as being friendly with the other rich kids went... Well they all preferred Feliciana, as usual. Why socialize with the older bitch of a sister when you can get ties to the Vargas family off your to-do list by befriending the younger, nicer sister instead?

And I hadn't yet told Antonio that this demented system was a big part of the reason why, when I met him, my defensive walls were so… large. That's what Antonio had called them himself; tall, reinforced, big. Too big.

The main reason was Nonno's failed attempt to leave me as a child, but the rest of it had to do with the other rich kids in my childhood.

So I was socially awkward.

So I wasn't an artistic prodigy.

So I couldn't follow fashion.

So I shook all the time.

It wasn't my fault... but in the metaphorical aristocracy, if you weren't the elite, you weren't permissible.

And HELL, was there an aristocracy in school. I remember a quote from a guy named Adams... someone important in America during some revolution or other. "The five Pillars of Aristocracy are Beauty, Wealth, Birth, Genius and Virtues. Any one of the three first, can at any time, over bear any one or both of the two last." Seeing as I had only one of the five, the Birth, I was one of the elementary-aristocracy rejects. Antonio swore he liked what I did, but I could never tell who was lying to me about my talent anymore, so I always assumed they were overreacting.

But I'm getting off topic. That's a different problem for a different day. Alice has already finished (read: given up) explaining the rich-girl-best-friend-complex to Antonio.

"Now, who's next... ah, to hell with it, I'll debrief you on Francis' habits." Alice says, after a thoughtful pause. "Now... I love the git to death, I swear I do, but he's really... handsy."

"Handsy?" Antonio and I inquire in unison, before exchanging dubious glances.

"Stupid frog can't keep his hands to himself," Alice sighs, flashing a resigned smile over her shoulder at us. "Honestly I'm a little surprised I'm the first girl he's impregnated."

"And you're... okay with this?" I ask skeptically. "If I were you I'd have kicked the bastard out before I even started a relationship with him and gone about advising his partners he might have some kind of sexually transmitted disease just for good measure."

"Oh, Francis is clean," Alice mutters darkly, a surprisingly serious expression dominating her features. "My parents made well sure of that. He's got a reputation, he does. But I love him like mad. Hah, mad indeed... I'm mad to have stayed with him this long... But he really does mean well. He's sweet at heart."

"What about the red-eyed boy?" Antonio pipes up suddenly. "Gilbert something?"

"The albino?" Alice snorts. "There's not much to him, as far as I can tell. He's the owner's grandson, and he has an ego the size of Prussia, the previously-existing nation. It seems to me it's his girlfriend who has the special circumstance in their relationship."

"Who, Madeline?" I ask, my curiosity peaking. She's the one who seems a little... off to me. I think she's blonde, but when she stood up before she looked a little strawberry blonde. Which is a fucking retarded term if you ask me, because it's orange, it should be like, honey blonde or something, what the fuck do strawberries have to do with anything?

"Yes, the shy one. Is that her name? I couldn't remember it." Alice hums, before continuing. "Right... well I don't think she's famous or even rich, necessarily, but she's been acting like she's on heavy medication all day. I'm thinking she either has a medical condition or something very wrong with her baby. She hasn't said which yet."

"Oh," I breathe, suddenly feeling bad about my thoughts on the girl. Maybe she's like me with the Chorea. Certainly it can't be her fault, whatever it is.

"Well, anyway... Who else is there again? Ivan, Hera and Kiku, yes? Ah... I'm afraid I don't know a whit about any of them. Hera sleeps a lot, and Kiku seems very stressed out. Ivan seems violent. That's about it," Alice concludes, tapping a finger to her lip while she tries to think of something to add. "It's odd, really, that I've known Emily so long, and only learned she had a boyfriend when she told me she was pregnant."

"Yeah... odd," I agree weakly, rubbing at the back of my neck with my free hand.

The name Braginsky is sounding more and more familiar the longer I brood on it, and it's definitely one I associate with Uncle Vinny, the mafia man. We didn't know we had an Uncle Vinny until a week before our step-aunt Viktoria (Was her maiden name Braginsky?) was assassinated by the mafia a few years ago. I'm still not sure if I'm actually related to the guy or not.

"Ah, here we are," Alice says cheerfully, as we finally come to a stop before a pair of large (again, a lot smaller than the main entrance doors, but also a lot larger than necessary) polished mahogany doors, and Alice goes to tug one of them open. Antonio immediately steps forward to help, and only I stand there while my new friend and my boyfriend go about moving these massive wooden structures apart so we can pass through.

It takes a full minute, but finally the pair of them, panting and pink in the face, huff in unison and stand back to admire their handiwork. I snort and step between them through the doors, only to stop at the appearance of the dining hall. Nonno has a large dining hall himself, but this one is decidedly more impressive, if you ask me. The one I'm used to has a huge white table, probably twenty feet long, with ten chairs on each side and one at each end, each one carved from some kind of dark wood imported from Italy. They have straight backs and no cushions, and only four of the seats at the table are every really occupied; Nonno, Feliciana, and Antonio and I. The walls are mostly white, with those fancy-ass panels with paintings in them, rimmed by gold, plating, naturally.

This dining room though… And it really is, it's more of a room than a hall, it's immense, but it's cozy at the same time. The walls are stone, once-rough, now clearly worn with age, smoothed by who-knows how many decades of palms and fingertips. Long ornate tapestries in black, white and blue cover where I assume the windows are, and in place of the natural light they would let in, a gigantic chandelier made of black metal rings dangles above the table. Upon first glance, the table itself appears to be made of a light-colored wood, but when I look again I see that it's more of an enormous log, split in half and propped up with six thick but much smaller logs along the outside edges. The chairs also have a more natural feel, appearing more like the basic (and WIDE- only three chairs fit between two legs of the table, which makes six on each side, and one at each end) log frames of armchairs, with no padding except on the seats, each in a different color and pattern.

A merry fire crackles a greeting as the heat flooding from it finally washes across my cheeks, from the opposite end of the room. I notice sitting upon the table a basket with a cloth covering, and the smell of fresh bread (Pizza dough smells about the same, and I know that smell because I cooked it all the time for the elite cooking lessons Nonno had signed us up for a few years ago. The instructor never said we had to make something different every time, and I told him as much when he tried to flunk me for repeating recipes. Besides, my pizzas always come out perfect.) wafts out from under it.

"Homely," I note, striding into the room, and trailing my fingertips along the surprisingly smooth tabletop. I pass several chairs, deciding that since I'm here, I may as well pick a seat, before everyone else does. The first chair to the left of the head of the table has a blue cushion, the color of the sky on a clear day. The second is a sort of mauve purple, and the third is a vibrant red-and-white striped pattern. The one after it is an emerald green that reminds me of both Alice and Antonio's eyes, which are very similar.

It's when I see the second to last chair that I make my decision. The pattern on the cushion has a swirling pattern on it, auburn curls and star shapes on a background of a mocha shade of tan. I love it; it reminds me of the errant curl in my hair, and the sand on the beaches of Italy. I slide my fingers along the arm, and take a delicate seat in it. I note that the final chair on the left side of the table has a lavender colored cushion, though a dark stain mars the center.

"Already picked seats, have we?" a deep male voice asks, a light humor saturating his tone, and I look up, surprised to see a man standing in the doorway we'd just come through. Alice looks about as startled as I do, and I observe she's taken the seat beside mine, the one with the green cushion.

The man in the doorway looks old; probably at least as old as Nonno. The odd part, though, is that he has pale -graying- blonde hair, worn in dreadlocks and pulled away from his face. He's dressed nicely; a two-piece gray suit and plain blouse beneath, with a blue and yellow abstractly patterned ascot sticking out the neck of the white shirt. His shoes are black, and they shine as much as Nonno's always do. I know right then who he is.

"Mr. Beilschmidt," I say, rising from my chair at the sight of him.

Yes, I know his name because Gilbert, his insolent grandson, told me who he was, but I know this man; Nonno knows this man. He's been over the house, seen me before, probably been told about me too. He's been to our parties, socialized with my grandfather, and why, why have I not met Gilbert before this point, because I thought I knew all the socialites! What about his younger brother... Ludwig, wasn't it? Why have I never seen either of them before, and why does Mr. Beilschmidt, a (So I assume,) respectable, rich man in society, run a school (in a fucking CASTLE, no less,) for special teen pregnancy cases?

"Lovina," he acknowledges, inclining his head towards me. "How lovely to see you again."

"Lovi?" Antonio asks from the other side of the table, a hesitant smile on his face but a question burning in his eyes.

"You must be Antonio," Beilschmidt says, making the same awkward-ass half-nod to the Spanish boy across the table from me. "And it's good to see you again, Miss Kirkland,"

"A-Ah, yes of course, where are my manners, the pleasure is mine, Mr. Beilschmidt," Alice stammers, curling her hands into fists beneath the table in what I can only guess is anxiety but smiling all the same.

"THE AWESOME ME IS COMING, YOU'D ALL BEST PREPARE YOUR- Oh... hi, _Großvater_," Gilbert shouts through the hallway, wisely falling silent after greeting his grandfather.

"Hello, Gilbert," Mr. Beilschmidt says evenly, though everyone present can hear the underlying threat in those two smooth words.

The room is almost silent as first Gilbert and Madeline, then the remainder of the teenagers file into the room and greet Mr. Beilschmidt before each taking a seat. Madeline takes the chair beside mine, the lavender one with the splotch, and Emily chooses the one on the other side of Alice. Hera sits next to Emily and promptly falls asleep, and I watch Gilbert take a seat at the end of the table next to Madeline. Antonio sits next to him, across from Madeline, and Francis takes the seat across from me, while Ivan takes the seat opposite Alice. Kiku seats himself beside Ivan, across from Emily.

As soon as all of us are seated, Mr. Beilschmidt rings a small bell set on the table in front of him, exactly as most nosebleed-upper-class people such as all of us assembled now tend to do. Through the giant double doors comes first Katyusha, then Natalia and Ludwig, each struggling a little with a covered silver platter that's probably too big for each of their respective sizes. Following them are two adults, a pair of brunettes, male and female, with two more platters. After they have all been set upon the table, Mr. Beilschmidt deigns to introduce them.

"Now I believe most of you have met Katyusha," he says, nodding at the busty servant girl -although on second thought, she looks older than me, so maybe I should call her a lady- who smiles in return. "And this is Natalia, Katyusha's younger sister," he continues, nodding at the platinum blonde girl who took my bag earlier -creepy little bitch- "And Ludwig, my grandson." The blonde boy from before with the slicked back hair and sky blue eyes nods, absolutely expressionless, even when Gilbert catcalls at the other end of the table (and receives a glare for his trouble).

"Now these are the Edelsteins," Beilschmidt adds, gesturing with one hand to the brown-haired couple standing by the door (in comparison to the younger trio, who are standing near empty seats at the table). "Roderich and Elizaveta."

Roderich has simple glasses and a purple waistcoat, which I won't even attempt to guess when was in style, and a pair of practically antique white trousers, complete with knee high white stockings and blocky black shoes. He also wears a white neck-scarf thing (Cravat? Oh, the hell if I know...) between the lapels of the jacket, and I tug at my own denim jacket, aware how stuffy that must get on hot days. The woman, Elizaveta, is in slightly more casual dress. A green, summer-styled dress is worn, although it's really more of a spring green, with a white apron over it, and I can see she's wearing a corset beneath the dress as well. The dress is knee length, but frilled and layered a little like Natalia's seems to be, though Katyusha's is not. Frills adorn all the edges, and a v-shaped neckline does not dip so low into the brunette's cleavage that I find the dress to be anything less than modest. It has three-quarter sleeves, and pink and orange bracelets adorn her wrists, to match the pink and orange flower tucked behind her left ear. Her hair looks smooth and silky, and even from here I can see it goes down to her waist. (And if you think I described Elizaveta in more detail than Roderich, you'd be damn straight, because how the hell am I supposed to know anything about men's nineteenth century fashion?)

"Roderich is our head of staff and therapeutic assistant, and Elizaveta is our organization's psychologist. You will be working closely with both of them over the following months to ensure your experiences are as smooth and as comfortable as possible."

Both nod, before departing back through the gigantic wooden doors, while Katyusha, Natalia and Ludwig take seats at the table. Ludwig is between his grandfather and Hera, and Katyusha and Natalia sit beside Mr. Beilschmidt and next to Kiku, who nods politely in their direction. I quirk an eyebrow at their presence at the table, but say nothing. Nonno let servants sit with us too, when we didn't have company, but this is our first night here, and I'm pretty sure we're the "company," so I don't quite understand what these three are doing here.

"Ah, you all can start eating," Beilschmidt informs us. "If you're one to pray, you may do so quietly, but I've never been one to force religion on anybody. Enjoy."

I nod in approval at his religious neutrality, because even though I'm still sort-of Catholic (and technically so is Antonio), I understand that more likely than not, the rest of the people here aren't. I murmur a quick prayer under my breath before glancing around at the food on the table.

There is a roast chicken up near Beilschmidt, and another down by albino Beilschmidt, and between the two are exactly one giant bowl of spring salad, one basket of rolls, one tray of various cooked vegetables, and one bowl of mashed potatoes. Well someone's trying to make a point. No wine, no fancy meal, no ridiculously expensive salad dressing. This is simple and healthy. I like it. (Well, I would LOVE it if there was Italian food, but I'm sure we'll have that eventually too.)

Francis on the other hand, seems to be quite put out by the assembly of nourishment before us. "Where is the wine?" he demands. "Come along, just because I'm in America doesn't mean I can't have alcohol, does it?"

"We don't provide -or keep- alcohol on these premises because it could be detrimental to the health of the children. And we don't encourage people of your age to drink." Mr. Beilschmidt says simply.

Francis huffs indignantly, but I see him glance at Alice (to see her reaction, I assume) before he seems to accept the lack of alcoholic beverages.

"Why doesn't everyone tell a little about themselves?" Emily says suddenly, blue eyes glinting predatorily beneath her red spectacles as she stares at each person on the opposite side of the table in turn.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, da?" Ivan asks the table as a whole, mock-cheerfulness in the empty smile he's wearing. It really wouldn't surprise me if those two were some kind of freak sadists or something. They just want to put everyone else in the spotlight and see them squirm.

"Hera, why don't you start," Emily intones sweetly, leaning forward and poking the Greek girl's forehead to wake her.

"W-What?" she says groggily, looking around as though in a daze.

"Why don't you introduce yourself?" Emily says, the same sickeningly sweet tone of voice still intact.

"O-Okay," Hera yawns, stretching her arms over her head before dropping her chin on her hands once more. "I'm Hera Karpusi, my dad owns Karpusi Designs, and my mom is its head designer. I'm rich. And 18. And Greek. And I like cats a lot."

"Right... Lovely," Emily hums, before smiling. "I guess it's my turn now. I'm Emily F. Jones, and I'm sure you all know who my parents are. You should see their latest movie. It's an espionage action film with a side genre of romance. I'm 16, and my birthday is on July 4th, otherwise known as independence day. Alice?"

"Alice Kirkland," Alice says proudly, straightening up in her chair, even though I can tell she's annoyed at Emily's brief introduction. "Of the British Royal Family. Fourth in line for the throne after my brothers. Er... I'm 17, and... I love tea and hate coffee."

...so that's why Alice looked familiar to me. British royal family, huh? Wow, she must be in some deep shit.

"Lovina?" Emily prods, when I apparently take too long to introduce myself.

"Lovina Vargas. 17. Italian, don't want to be here. Can I be done now?" I say sarcastically.

"Hmm, no." Emily says decisively. "WHY are you here?"

"Because my Nonno made me come?" I shrug, beginning to get fairly angry with this annoying American bitch. It's none of her business why I'm here.

"And who is he?"

"I already told you, he's Romulus Vargas, you stupid-"

"Language, ladies. Let's keep it civil," Mr. Beilschmidt interrupts gruffly.

"Sorry Mr. Beilschmidt," Emily practically coos, and I have to hold down the bile. She continues sucking up to the German while I put some food on my plate, something I'd neglected to do until after I knew I'd be forced to say something. (I have a habit of spitting out food accidentally at the most awkward times.)

"How about you, Madeline?" Emily asks, after finally finishing kissing potato ass. "Why are you here?"

"O-Oh, I, ah..." the girl beside me hesitates, her face flushing at having everyone staring at her. "I... I don't really w-want to..."

"It's okay, Birdie," Gilbert says from her other side, taking her hand in his and shooting a pointed glare at the American girl. "You don't have to. Isn't that RIGHT, Emily?"

"Of course, of course," Emily waves him off. "Well what about you?"

"I'm here to support Birdie, of course." Is it just me, or is he literally growling?

"How about you, Antonio?"

"I'm just here to support Lovi," Antonio smiles, but I can see the hesitation. He doesn't want to tell her anything I clearly hadn't shared for a reason.

"That's it? How bland. Francis?" Emily sighs.

"Long and tedious introduction short," the French boy sighs dramatically. "My papa is the _Président de la République française_. The president of France. I am 18 and a bisexual."

"...of all the things to tell them..." Alice sighs exasperatedly.

...well that explains how I knew Francis' face as well. Wow, their parents must be furious.

"Right, right, of course," Emily muses, before moving on to her next victim. Or, perhaps not. It is Ivan after all. "Ivan, darling?"

DARLING?

This big fucking Russian kid.

She calls him DARLING?

You have got to be kidding me.

I'm being pranked, right?

No, seriously.

This is so not okay.

If I have to live with this hitch and her "darling" for a whole year, so help me God...

"Da, okay," Ivan smiles eerily, nodding at the blonde girl. "I am Ivan Braginsky, I am in the Russian mafia, and I am here because my father does not wish his grandchild to be shot before it is even born. Or Emily, either."

...wow. Okay. Blunt. Um. That was interesting, to say the least. At least now I KNOW he's in the mafia...

"Kiku?" Emily continues without pause. She must already know all that about Ivan.

"M-My parents own the Kiku think tank, and do not know I have accidentally... caused this to happen. I would bring shame on my family if anyone were to find out. My parents think I am studying in America for a year."

I go back to eating after hearing Kiku's explanation. The chicken doesn't look half bad, and besides, all Emily's doing now is gushing about her parents' movie. And somewhere in between my non-introduction and Kiku's, my plate has been filled. I'm not really sure by who, since Katyusha, Natalia, and Ludwig haven't gone anywhere.

There is a large-ish piece of chicken on my plate, a pile of mashed potatoes beside it -yuck- and a serving of salad on the other side, with a roll between the meat and greens. Well I refuse to touch those potatoes, but I'll eat the rest. Ooh, look, there's even a tomato in the salad. I like tomatoes. A lot.

"Mom is so gorgeous, she keeps her male fandom coming back for more every movie," Emily sighs dreamily. "I'm going to be an actress just like her one day, no matter what else I do for a job. And dad hates that she gets so much attention, but he's the exact same way with the ladies. Sometimes I wonder if it's a curse that I'm so beautiful _and_so rich."

Am I hearing this right? Is she really ranting aloud about herself and her parents fucking _gorgeousness_? Can you say _conceited_?

"And Alice, can you believe it, the World Academy fired Mr. Brown! Finally, it was _about time_. That man's salary was a waste of our parents' money. I still can't believe he failed me on that last Health test. I mean, come on, just because I wrote that people who are depressed and druggies can stop whenever they feel like it on the last one, doesn't give him the right to…"

"SHUT _UP_, EMILY!"

All eyes turn to my end of the table, and I glance to my left, startled to find Madeline standing, red-faced and panting, lavender eyes sparkling dangerously in the candlelight. She glares down at the other blonde girl, and points an accusatory finger. "Just because you have everything doesn't mean you have to rub it in our faces, eh," the Canadian spits, before hurrying from the room, with small tears already trailing down her face.

The instant she's gone from our sight, the sound of violent vomiting comes from the hallway, and more audible sobs follow. Gilbert curses, dropping his silverware and pushing his chair out, heading for the exit as well. "Shit, Birdie, _wait_," he calls, rushing after her, probably to try to help her get to wherever she can get help for whatever that all was.

My knife is shaking in my hand, and I can tell my tremors are returning because of the unexpectedness of that entire scene. I carefully place it back on the table and wipe my hands on my napkin before curling my hands into fists to try to make them stop.

We can all hear Gilbert escort Madeline away, still crying all the way down the hallway, and then the only sound left is Natalia and Ivan's silverware cutting food, because they appear to be unfazed by the entire thing.

"Fuck," Emily mutters, slumping back in her chair dejectedly.

I rise from my own chair, not hungry anymore, and glance once at Emily and Alice before starting out the door after Madeline and Gilbert. I can hear Alice following me, and Katyusha rising from her place, probably because she knows she'll have to clean that vomit, but nobody else moves from their places at the table.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay... so this probably seems short, but it's actually not. This is about 5,500 words... er, sorry it took me so long. This one has been really hard to work on. And life has been hating on me really hard lately. And I've had this chapter planned for weeks but I just couldn't write it down. I kept having to stop and start and stop and start over. It was crazy. If it doesn't make any sense at ALL, just like, tell me, kay? Cause if I read this over ONE MORE TIME I swear I'm going to explode. Not my best work, but this story has so much potential, and I know I'll get something better out for the next one.


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